Soul in the Umbrella Stand
by Merqurius
Summary: After the events of 20x05 “Dignity”, Jack gives Mike an assignment concerning old cases to make a point about why his soul shouldn’t reside in the umbrella stand.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: After the events of 20x05 "Dignity", Jack gives Mike an assignment concerning old cases to make a point about why his soul shouldn't reside in the umbrella stand.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own anything.

Soul in the Umbrella Stand – Chapter 1

Mike and Connie had agreed to disagree. He would allow her to keep her personal opinions and would not attempt to force her to leave her soul in the umbrella stand when she came in. She, on the other hand, had accepted that that was where his soul resided and had promised not to go behind his and Jack's back anymore. It was a workable solution for both of them.

Connie was back at her desk and Mike was sitting in front of his. It was the day after Jack had told them to 'work it out', and, seeing as they had, Mike expected to have heard the last of the whole matter. He was surprised when he looked up that Tuesday afternoon to find Jack in his office and barely had the time to move his hands away when his superior dropped a stack of files in front of him.

"What's this?" Mike asked, picking up the first one and reading the label.

"Homework," Jack stated dryly. "You're taking the rest of the week off. You'll read these cases and visit the addresses enclosed. These people are expecting you. Just talk to them and report back to me on Monday."

Mike looked up, incredulous. "Why?" He moved a few of the files around and read the other labels. "These cases are years old. They are all closed! Why do you want me to interview these people? What's the point?"

Jack pinned him with a stern stare. "I said 'talk', not 'interview'. And next Monday, we'll talk about the point. You'll see." Mike was still looking at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Three days of reading and talking to people," Jack continued, his voice a little softer. "See it as taking a break from your normal case load."

He left before Mike had a chance to engage in further discussion and interrogation. Mike picked up the first file again. The case was from 2001. The investigating officers had been Lennie Briscoe and Ed Green. He knew the latter, but never had the pleasure of meeting the first one. Jack had mentioned him once or twice. Apparently he'd been very good. Jack himself had been the EADA assigned to the case, Abbie Carmichael his second chair.

Mike read the case notes attached. Three teenagers had murdered a man delivering Chinese food in cold blood and had subsequently taken the food. The case seemed a slam dunk. Plenty of physical evidence, incriminating statements from one of the teenagers. They had all been convicted, one of them had gotten the death penalty. It seemed an obvious success. Mike took a look at the address that was written on a piece of paper in what was clearly Jack's handwriting. He closed the file. Why on earth was McCoy making him do this?

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary**: After the events of 20x05 "Dignity", Jack gives Mike an assignment concerning old cases to make a point about why his soul shouldn't reside in the umbrella stand.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own anything.

**A/N**: Contains possible spoilers for episode 11x12 "Teenage Wasteland".

Soul in the Umbrella Stand – Chapter 2

Michael Cutter pulled his coat tighter around him as he strolled up the driveway to a small cottage. It was nearing twelve o'clock in the morning. He'd stayed up late the previous evening, reading and re-reading the file, trying to find out what Jack wanted him to discover. There truly was nothing, in his opinion. The police and prosecutors had done everything right and the killer, who had been on death row for six years, had recently been executed.

He jammed his hands further in his pockets, resisting the urge to kick one of the small pebbles covering the path like a petulant child. There were just so many things he'd rather do on his day off.

He arrived at the cottage a few moments later. A dark blue SUV was parked in front of it, the brown and dreary curtains were drawn. The whole place seemed desolate and tragic, as if the deaths of the delivery man and his killer, Mitch Regan, had shrouded it in shadow for the last eight years. Mike tried the bell, but it wasn't working. After a moment's hesitation, he knocked on the door.

Several seconds of complete silence. Then it opened, slowly and creaking pitifully, the face of a woman peering through the opening. "Mrs. Regan?", Mike asked, extracting his ID from his pocket. "Michael Cutter. I'm with the District Attorney's office. You knew that I was coming?"

She took his identification, stared at it for a moment and then handed it back to him with a look of disgust. "Your boss called me. Come in." She turned around and walked through a narrow hallway, disappearing into the living room. Mike was left on her doorstep and had no choice but to follow.

The inside of the cottage was as bleak as the outside. The drawn curtains made it seem as if it was permanently evening. The living room was decorated in an old-fashioned way. Mike noticed a grandfather clock in the corner, a few uncomfortable armchairs and a lumpy couch. The walls were adorned with paintings that seemed oddly out of place. They were pictures of landscapes and wildlife, their vivid colours not matching the rest of the house. Mrs. Regan pointed at a chair and Mike sat.

"What exactly did my boss tell you?" Mike asked her as she sat opposite from him.

"He asked me whether I was willing to talk to you about Mitch. I didn't want to at first. He was the bastard who-", her voice faltered for a moment. "who … who killed him. But he told me you wouldn't judge, you'd just listen and I'd get to say what I couldn't in court."

Mike's interest was suddenly piqued. "And what was that, Mrs. Regan?"

The frail woman in front of him composed herself and Mike saw a sudden fire in her eyes that hadn't been there before. She sat up a little straighter. "During the sentencing hearing, Mitch's lawyer wanted to call my son's art teacher. My son was talented, you know." She waited until Mike had nodded, albeit a bit skeptically. "But the teacher couldn't take the stand. Something about it opening the door to 'prior bad acts' or something. Your boss would be able to use it against my boy." Her eyes were accusing him and Mike shifted slightly in his seat. "So the jury never heard it. They thought he was some sort of monster, while he … he wasn't."

Mike got up, walked over to the wall of the living room and studied the signature underneath one of the nature paintings. The writing was quite clear. _Mitch Regan_. "Your son made these?"

She joined him, a watery smile on her face. "He always liked drawing. Even as a young boy, he was always carrying a sketch book around. His biological father didn't like it. Said painting was for sissies. The kids at his school did as well. He was bullied, you know, in primary school. When he got older, he didn't show his work anymore, except to me. His friends didn't even know. He always tried to be this tough guy, but secretly, he wanted to go to art school. Wanted to paint."

Mike let his eyes glide over the many paintings on the wall. Most of them had a kind of tranquility about them, a tranquility that Mike certainly hadn't recognized in any of the police photographs of Mitch and especially not in his crimes. It was a strange thought that Mitch Regan had possessed both a talent for art and the capability of murder. "These are very good," he told her when he found his voice again.

Her watery smile became a bit more solid and she seemed at least ten years younger in those split seconds. Then her smile faded and her face became harsh again. "He was eighteen when they decided to kill him. Eighteen years and two weeks old." She sank back into her chair. "He was just a boy, really. Just a boy." She suddenly looked up at him and pierced Mike with her stare. "How is that justice?"

"The law-", Mike began, but his heart wasn't really in it.

"My son was twenty-four years old when they strapped him to that gurney and murdered him. Don't talk to me about the law, Mr. Cutter. I know what it says. I know what it allows the state to do in its name. Mitch was misguided, but so is that law you follow so zealously." Her hands were balled in her lap and her voice had become shrill.

"What is else is there to follow?"

She looked at him, incomprehension written all over her face. "A bit of humanity, Mr. Cutter. Just a bit. Just occasionally. Humanity that tells us it is wrong to sentence eighteen-year-old children to death."

There was nothing left to say after that. Her final words had let a silence descend upon the room that Mike couldn't break, not with all his arguments about the law, about the fair application of the death penalty and about the heinousness of her son's crime. A few minutes later, he was outside again. "Thank you for talking to me, Mrs. Regan."

"Please remember what I told you," she said to him and put her hand on his arm for just a second. The gesture surprised Mike. "A bit of humanity."

He thanked her again, turned around and walked away. He felt her watching him as he walked the long path back to his car. A bit of humanity. Was that what Jack wanted from him? He was a prosecutor. Not a doctor, not a priest, not a bloody saint. His work was to adhere to the law. Black-letter law on pristine white pages. They were rules that had to be followed and humanity didn't enter into the question. At least it didn't for him. He did kick the pebble away this time and saw it skid to a halt ten feet in front of him. There was sliver of doubt inside him, eating away at his confidence. Michael Cutter disliked doubt. Disliked the way it made him feel. As he left Mrs. Regan and her gloomy house behind him, he concluded that his visit had been a waste of time.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary**: After the events of 20x05 "Dignity", Jack gives Mike an assignment concerning old cases to make a point about why his soul shouldn't reside in the umbrella stand.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own anything.

**A/N**: Contains possible spoilers for episode 13x17 "Genius".

Soul in the Umbrella Stand – Chapter 3

Mike Cutter had never liked graveyards. No-one did, most likely, but Mike felt an especially intense hatred for them. The idea that in the future he would lie in one of these neglected graves, did not suit him at all. He was starting to feel increasingly uncomfortable, when he heard his name being called from a small distance away.

"Michael Cutter?"

He turned around quickly and saw an elderly man limping towards him. Time had not been kind to Nelson Lambert. His hair, that had already been greying six years ago, was now completely white and he walking only with the assistance of a cane. "Mr. Lambert?"

They met in the middle of the aisle and shook hands. Then the older man led Mike to a rather simple, undecorated grave. The name read _Clay Warner_ and Mike revisited the case file briefly in his head. Clay Warner, a promising young writer and protégé of Nelson Lambert, had murdered and robbed a cab driver in 2003. He had confessed to the crime, but only on the condition that he was to receive the death penalty.

"Clay Warner," Lambert broke the silence. "The greatest literary genius in years. And the state of New York assisted in his suicide. Have you read his book?"

"I have," Mike answered. He'd been given it as a present a few years ago, but had never troubled to read it. However, when he was studying the files Jack had given him, he recognized the name, got the book from a dusty shelf and had been unable to put it down for hours. "You didn't agree with his choice, right?"

"Do you support state-financed suicide?" The elder man fired back.

"The law was applied correctly and fairly."

Lambert snorted derisively. "No room for exception."

Mike nodded. "Everybody is equal for the law. It's how the system works."

"Equal for the law," Lambert mused. "And what exactly does that mean, Michael Cutter? Everybody gets treated the same?"

"Yes."

"Regardless of race or social status?"

"That's right."

"So why is it then that black defendants are 3.9 times more likely to get the death penalty than whites?"

Mike needed a moment to consider his answer. "The system isn't perfect. That doesn't mean we should abandon any attempt at equality. Besides, Clay Warner asked for the death penalty himself."

Lambert turned to him, his eyes gleaming with a fanaticism that made Mike feel uncomfortable. It was as if he was back at school, being grilled by his English teacher, who would always know infinitely more than he would, no matter how much Mike would try. "Another excellent point. Clay did not want to die, but preferred it to a life in prison. Doesn't that suggest cruel and unusual punishment to you?"

"Every other prisoner would be able to claim exactly that in order to escape their punishment."

"But Clay Warner wasn't every other prisoner. He was an artist. Come with me, young man." Mike followed Lambert, who walked slowly to a bench underneath some trees overlooking the cemetery. He sank down on it and Mike did the same. "So you don't think artists should be given leniency?" He didn't even wait for Mike's curt nod. "Do you know the life story of Oscar Wilde?"

Mike did. He remembered a high school project he did on Wilde once. Wilde's most famous works were still on his book shelf. The case had always screamed 'injustice' at him and had even been part of his decision to go to law school. "I know his story."

"Very well then," Lambert said and Mike had the feeling he was about to walk right into a trap. "Let us be transported back to 1895. Oscar Wilde is in the dock, being charged with gross indecency or homosexual offenses, whatever you want to call it. The prosecution's evidence is overwhelming. They have statements from rent boys, witnesses from the hotels Wilde and his lover stayed at and his own controversial literary works which would show the jury exactly what kind of man he was. Would you convict Mr. Wilde?"

Mike didn't answer. He tried to win some time by glancing around the cemetery once more, but it was empty and there was nothing to distract him or hide his inability to form an answer. "I don't know."

"Think harder!" Lambert's voice was suddenly harsh and Mike averted his eyes.

After a moment's hesitation, he said: "No. No, I don't think so. I wouldn't convict." It was the honest truth.

"But why not?" Lambert asked in mock-surprise. "The law is clear. Homosexuality is forbidden. You should convict. Why don't you?"

"Because … because the law was wrong! That's why we've changed it."

"That law was changed only in 1956. What laws will we be changing in the next sixty years? You don't know that. You don't question the laws we follow now, you wouldn't have done so in 1895. So why don't you convict?"

This is what it had to feel like when a defendant had talked himself into a corner on the stand and Mike himself was pressing the point home. "Because it's Wilde."

"Because it's Wilde," Lambert repeated slowly and softly, smiling slightly at Mike. "And Wilde was a writer, a playwright, a poet. He was a genius. And if it was someone else in the dock? A nameless, faceless, random person. Would it be as difficult?"

Mike remained silent.

"I didn't quite catch that, Michael Cutter." Lambert was enjoying this. He'd have made an excellent old-fashioned school teacher, Mike reckoned.

"No, it wouldn't be as difficult." He forced himself to say the words.

"Equality before the law is a myth. It destroyed Oscar Wilde over a hundred years ago and Clay Warner just a few years back. Think about that, lad." He briefly placed a hand on Mike's shoulder as he got up to leave. "It was nice talking to you."

Mike got up to shake his hand, but as the older man walked away, he sank down on the bench again, his head still reeling from the words he'd just heard. An interesting theory. He mentally filed Lambert's words away, wondering what Jack would make of them. Personally, however, Mike still wasn't convinced.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary**: After the events of 20x05 "Dignity", Jack gives Mike an assignment concerning old cases to make a point about why his soul shouldn't reside in the umbrella stand.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own anything.

**A/N**: Contains possible spoilers for episode 14x01 "Bodies".

Soul in the Umbrella Stand – Chapter 4

Mike made his way through the smoky bar to a quiet corner, where just one man was sitting morosely at a table, staring at the beer in front of him. The man at the table was a few years younger than Mike was, yet his face was marked by lines and dark circles under his eyes. The rumpled suit he was wearing seemed several seizes too big and Mike concluded that it wasn't part of his normal wardrobe anymore.

"Michael Cutter."

"Tim Schwimmer."

His handshake was stronger than Mike had expected it to be and when Schwimmer sat down, he habitually smoothed down his tie. The everyday habits of a lawyer die hard, even after five years in prison.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet me, Mr. Schwimmer," Mike began.

Schwimmer interrupted him almost immediately. "It's Tim, please. Just Tim."

"Mike." He quickly extended the same courtesy.

"I'm sure you've read my file," Tim Schwimmer continued in his soft voice that suddenly gained a rather bitter edge. "Young Legal Aid lawyer assigned to suspected serial killer Mark Bruner. The killer tells the lawyer where the bodies of his victims are hidden and the young fool goes looking for them. The address his client has given him leads to a warehouse. The lawyer enters, finds the corpses and locks the door when he leaves. And there you've got it. By locking that door, he's made himself an accessory to multiple murders and their cover-up. The perfect leverage for a fanatic EADA." He took a sip of beer and grinned humourlessly at Mike. "I refused to tell him where they were. Attorney-client privilege. The guilty verdict came in after less than an hour. The judge had pity on me and only gave me seven years. I was paroled after five."

"Why didn't you just tell McCoy where they bodies were hidden?"

"Simple. Like I said: attorney-client privilege."

Mike shook his head as Schwimmer took another swig of his beer. "It's not that simple. No bar association in the country would have faulted you for giving up that information. Your own client had already gotten the death penalty, it wouldn't change anything for him. Hell, even Legal Aid wouldn't have fired you for it. You'd probably have gotten a medal!"

"It would have violated my ethics," Schwimmer told him calmly and when he saw that Mike waved away that comment like an annoying fly, he continued: "Look, I wanted those bodies to be found as well, but the end doesn't justify the means. By allowing it to be so this time, would be to condone it in every situation."

"And you were ready to go to prison for that?" Mike asked incredulously.

"I was. Ironically, Bruner revealed the location of the bodies himself about a year after my conviction. The next four years were quite a lot harder when I knew that I wasn't even standing on principle anymore."

"Do you regret doing what you did?"

Tim Schwimmer was silent for a while. He stared at the table, tracing a circle in the pattern of the wood. When he started to speak, it was slow and deliberate: "I've lost five years of my life. I've got no job, no purpose, no future. My degree is useless. All I've got left is my belief in the law and my faith in the justice system. I still believe that what I did was right. I followed the rules of my profession when I chose to remain silent and Mr. McCoy followed the rules of the law when he convicted me."

"You thought McCoy was right?" Mike asked skeptically. "I'm not sure even I do."

Schwimmer flashed him a brief smile. "Believe me, I'm not thanking him. But he did act in accordance with the law."

"The law isn't always right." The words had left Mike's mouth before he'd even realized it.

Schwimmer raised his eyebrows. "That's not what McCoy said about your beliefs."

"What did he say to you?" Mike asked quickly. He was eager to hear anything about the point of his boss' assignment.

"He told me not to tell you anything else," Schwimmer smirked. "And anyway, I'm much more interested in why you think the law isn't always right."

"The law is abstract, theoretical. It's different dealing with real people. In some cases, it just isn't adequate." Mike said uncomfortably, feeling as if he was echoing the words of Mrs. Regan, words he hadn't agreed with two days ago.

"And that's exactly why I couldn't let my client down. Even serial killers are entitled to attorney-client privilege," Schwimmer shrugged.

"So why don't you practice anymore?"

Schwimmer sighed regretfully. "No firm hires a lawyer with a criminal record. I don't want to go back to Legal Aid. I'm too young to be a credible teacher."

"Have you ever considered working for the DA's office?"

Now Schwimmer was laughing out loud. "And work for the guy who put me in prison? Assuming that McCoy would ever consider hiring a felon."

"Youwon't follow McCoy around like a puppy," Mike said, trying to keep an indignant tone out of his voice. "Working for him doesn't mean agreeing with him every step of the way."

"I don't know, Mike," Schwimmer shook his head, still grinning slightly. He continued in a mocking way: "I'm afraid he'd fire me in a heartbeat after a fallout, probably throw me in prison as well. Prosecutorial misconduct, contempt of court, treason, you name it."

Mike grinned. "Then we could sue him. Wrongful firing. We could tell the court he was against you from the beginning. You'd make a very sympathetic defendant, you know."

"What, like last time I was on the stand?" Schwimmer responded sarcastically. "May I remind you that wasn't a great success."

Mike waved his hand casually. "Prior bad acts. Inadmissible."

As Schwimmer laughed, Mike ordered another round of beers. From that moment on, the conversation strayed away from the law and McCoy. Schwimmer was easy to talk to, Mike concluded. He was interesting, intelligent and witty. Mike regretted it when the barman told them it was near closing time. When they said their goodbyes, he handed Schwimmer his card containing his own number and the number of 1 Hogan Place. Schwimmer shook his head with a small smile, but when Mike turned to leave, he saw the younger man put it carefully away in his wallet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary**: After the events of 20x05 "Dignity", Jack gives Mike an assignment concerning old cases to make a point about why his soul shouldn't reside in the umbrella stand.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own anything.

**A/N**: Contains possible spoilers for episode 19x04 "Falling".

Soul in the Umbrella Stand – Chapter 5

When Mike got out of the taxi, it was already quite late in the afternoon. The cold winter wind was blowing heavy clouds over Manhattan and it wouldn't surprise him if it started to rain not too long from now. As the taxi driver drove off, Mike hesitated. This was the house he had been least looking forward to visiting. He tentatively rang the bell and the door opened almost immediately.

"Ah, Mr. Cutter," Gary Talbot greeted him, his voice friendly enough, but his eyes cold and rather distant. Mike reckoned that Talbot hadn't forgiven him for prosecuting his wife over a year ago, after she'd pushed the caretaker of their daughter into the water. "Do come in."

Inside, the house still looked very much the same as when Mike had visited it in 2008. Sandra Talbot, who also hadn't changed a lot, shook his hand and offered to get him a cup of coffee. Mr. Talbot led Mike to the couch.

After he sat down, Mike's eyes immediately strayed to the corner of the room, where the bed of the Talbots' daughter, Lacy, had stood the last time he was here. The bed was still there, the little girl in it still the same, but Mike's stomach dropped anyway. Lacy was now hooked up to several machines, IV's and tubes leading to and from her body. When Mike had prosecuted Sandra Talbot, he'd had learned that Lacy suffered from Static Encephalopathy and was unable to move or speak. She had been nine years old then and her parents had been looking for a doctor who would agree to perform an operation on her that would prevent Lacy's body from maturing. The procedure was dangerous and painful, and, according to Mike, just necessary for the convenience of the parents. He'd done everything to stop it, but Jack had eventually overruled him and the Talbots had been given a green light to go ahead.

It was clear that since then, they had found a doctor willing to perform the surgery. Mrs. Talbot returned from the kitchen and handed Mike his coffee. He averted his eyes from the bed to take it from her, feeling slightly nauseous. She saw it. "Three months after I took the plea, we were contacted by a surgeon who wanted to help us. Another two months later, Lacy was operated on."

Mike looked back at the bed, taking in the multitude of machines.

"There were … some complications," Gary Talbot took over, speaking with some difficulty. "Lacy had a bad reaction to the pain killers given to her during the procedure. She almost died on the table. She spent months in the hospital after that. Her immune system is still very weak."

"But she will be okay?" Mike inquired carefully.

"She needs to recover first and then we'll start with the hormone therapy," Talbot nodded. His hand sought his wife's and he squeezed it for a moment.

"You're still planning to go ahead?" Mike asked incredulously, his own hands tightening around the hot cup of coffee. "After all that's happened? The hormone therapy is almost more dangerous than the surgery itself! The chance of complications infinitely greater!"

Mr. Talbot's expression darkened. "We agreed to talk to you, Mr. Cutter, because your boss asked us to. He made sure you didn't prevent us from helping our daughter. We didn't need your advice or condemnation then, we certainly don't need it now."

Mike remembered why he had felt so strongly about this matter a year ago. When he and Connie were interviewing Gary Talbot in his house, Lacy had met his eyes and smiled at him. He'd also seen her smiling at parents on several occasions. Today, she was only lying there, expressionless. She looked the same, Mike concluded, but something was essentially different. It was as if the little girl had gone and had left only a shell behind.

He was suddenly hit by an uncontrollable anger. His rage wasn't directed at the Talbots themselves. They were trying to do the best for their daughter, however misguided it still seemed to him. It was partly directed at the system for not protecting Lacy Talbot and partly at Jack McCoy, who had stopped him from using that very system to at least do something. He put his untouched coffee down and got up. "Perhaps it's better if I left."

"Perhaps it is," Mrs. Talbot said, also standing up.

Mike aimed a final look at Lacy and turned to Mr. Talbot once more. "I guess that's easier than deciding whether I have a point."

Talbot took a quick step in Mike's direction and for a moment, Mike thought the other man might hit him. Mike almost regretted it when he didn't. "Please go, Mr. Cutter."

Mike nodded, mostly to himself and walked out the door, careful not to slam it. Rain was pouring down outside and Mike shivered due to the unexpected cold. He decided against hailing another cab, opting to walk instead. Still fuelled by rage, he set out for the apartment of Jack McCoy.

* * *

After forty-five minutes of walking, Mike reached Jack's apartment. The wind and rain hadn't done anything to subdue his anger. He banged forcefully on the door. Jack answered after just a few seconds.

"Yes, I was expecting you," Jack said, raising his eyebrows at Mike's appearance. "Come in." Mike followed him through the door. "I got a call from Gary Talbot just now," Jack continued, looking sternly at Mike. "He wasn't too happy about your visit."

"You sent me there! What did you think, that I'd completely agree with their ideas right now?" Mike started ranting. He paced through Jack's living room, dripping water everywhere. "By the way," he continued, pointing his index finger at his superior: "I still don't get the point of your little assignment. What the hell was I doing there anyway? Did you want to remind me that I failed?"

"No, that was not it," Jack said calmly, making no attempt to stop either Mike's rant or his pacing. "I wanted to show you that the law isn't always adequate."

"You think I didn't know that after you yanked my leash in open court?" It felt good to finally vent his anger about that particular episode.

Jack ignored his remark and remained infuriatingly calm. "No, I don't think you did. I think you thought I was just trying to be politically correct. But when the law is inadequate, we need human beings to use their best judgement. In this case, the solution wasn't to put Sandra Talbot in prison for abusing the daughter she loves."

Suddenly all Mike's anger seemed to ebb away. He didn't know whether it was due to the reasonableness of Jack's words or the realization that he was cold, wet and exhausted. He sank down on Jack's couch, shivering slightly. "They did the surgery." His voice sounded oddly strained to his own ears.

"I know."

"She wasn't the same, Jack," Mike said, staring rigidly at the carpet. "She smiled at me last year. She didn't anymore. There were complications during the operation. She's all hooked up to machines now, but they still want to go through with the hormone therapy. It's not right."

Jack walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Mike didn't look up. "There's nothing you could do then and there's nothing you can do now."

"I know," Mike sighed, quickly wiping his eyes. "But I still feel like crap."

"I'm afraid that that was another point of the assignment," Jack told him. His hand on Mike's shoulder was the only thing that kept Mike from jumping up again. "To remind you that the umbrella stand is no place for your soul. The decisions we make as prosecutors every day, are sometimes extremely difficult. I don't expect you to be devoid of feelings in the office. Nor should you expect that from your colleagues."

Mike nodded slowly. "So what do I do?"

"You come to me or to Connie. To talk or simply to drink scotch."

Mike recognized the lightening of Jack's tone and looked up to meet his grin. "So that's what we do now? Drink scotch?"

"No, it's not," Jack said and Mike looked slightly disappointed. "You're freezing. I'm assuming you walked here from the Talbots?"

"Yes."

"Knowing that it was raining and about 38 degrees outside?"

"Can I plead temporary insanity?"

"That would be the only explanation," Jack shot back. He disappeared for a moment, before returning with a blanket that he draped over Mike's shoulders and a warm cup of tea that he pressed into his hands. "You're staying here tonight. This couch is surprisingly comfortable." Mike opened his mouth to protest, but Jack cut him off: "You're cold and exhausted. You're staying here so that I can make sure you sleep and you haven't caught pneumonia or something."

The phone rang and Jack went into his study to answer it, leaving Mike alone with his tea. When he came back, about twenty minutes later, the younger man had apparently overcome his aversion to staying at Jack's place. His empty cup of tea was on the table and he himself was sleeping soundlessly on the couch.

Jack shook his head, picked up the book he had been reading and settled back into the armchair in which he had been sitting before Mike had come knocking on his front door.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary**: After the events of 20x05 "Dignity", Jack gives Mike an assignment concerning old cases to make a point about why his soul shouldn't reside in the umbrella stand.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own anything.

Soul in the Umbrella Stand – Chapter 6

Mike was staring at the door to Jack McCoy's office that held his whiteboard. In five minutes time, he had a meeting with his boss behind that door. When Mike had woken up on Jack's couch yesterday morning, he'd felt embarrassed and furious at himself for being so unprofessional, childish almost. Jack had sensed his discomfort and had allowed him to leave soon, but not before giving him the final part of his assignment. He was to think about the cases he'd studied over the past week and write down his findings on three questions: was the original prosecutor in the case right in doing what he did, what would you yourself have done in his situation and what was the correct moral and ethical decision in the case, regardless of the law?

Mike had put his ideas on paper and had handed them in to Jack this morning. Jack had taken his report and told him to come to his office at four. Mike had been oddly nervous ever since, though he couldn't say for sure why.

He finally got up, knocked and entered upon hearing Jack's voice. Jack was sitting at his desk, reading glasses perched on his nose. Mike's report was in front of him. Before sitting down, Mike straightened up and said rather formally: "I apologize for coming to your apartment Saturday evening. It was unprofessional."

Jack put down his reading glasses and walked around his desk, leaning against the front of it and looking down at Mike, who was now seated. "Unprofessional, you say?" Mike fidgeted with his tie, hating himself for his inexplicable nervousness. "I thought you understood that I wanted you to come to me or Connie?"

"Well, yes, at work, I understand that. But after hours-"

"Do you know how many times I turned up on Adam's doorstep?"

"You did?" Mike asked hesitantly. He somehow felt less vulnerable knowing that Jack had done the same. There were times in which he wanted to make very clear that he wasn't Jack McCoy, but at other occasions, he cherished their similarities. "Did he give you an assignment like you gave me?"

"He did," Jack nodded. "After I'd come to his house for the first time."

"Why did you go there? What cases did he make you study?" Mike inquired eagerly. He was leaning forward now, his hands no longer fumbling with his tie.

He saw that Jack was debating with himself whether he should answer. After a few moments of internal struggle, the older man told him: "I always feel that you know much too much about me and Adam already. But, if you promise me that you will forget this nonsense about being unprofessional, I'll tell you why I went to him."

"I promise," Mike said much too quickly. Jack's face made it clear to him that he didn't believe a word of it. However, it was also obvious that Mike needed to hear this.

"I was twenty-seven years old and had been working under Adam for three years," Jack began, sitting down next to Mike, instead of opposite him. He continued:

_It was the first time he allowed me to try a major case by myself, instead of being his second chair. It was also my first murder trial. The defendant was the father of an eight-year-old boy, whom he had killed in a violent rage. Because of a bad search, the murder weapon had been thrown out, but I was still feeling confident. The jury took a long time, though, but they were back after two days with a verdict. _

"_Will the defendant please rise?" _

_I was nervous, but also excited. I'd worked overtime for weeks to prepare for this moment and I imagined what it would be like to win this case. There had never been a shred of doubt in my mind about the defendant's guilt and the possibility that other people didn't see it the same way simply didn't occur to me. _

"_On the sole count of the indictment, murder in the second degree, how do you find?"_

_The jury foreman cleared his throat and I had the feeling he was looking straight at me for a moment. "We find the defendant not guilty."_

_The defendant and his lawyer embraced and there was immediate uproar in the court room. The rest of the family of the victim was crying, shouting at the defendant and at me. _

"_You promised me they'd convict," the victim's mother yelled. "You promised, you bastard!" _

_The judge ordered that the court room was to be cleared. The defendant and his lawyer left, but I just couldn't move. There was so much guilt pressing down on me that I couldn't even get up. The worst thing was that I wasn't even worrying about that murdered boy or his family. I was afraid of what Adam would say. Eventually, the judge came up to me and asked me whether I was alright. I told him I was and then I finally left. _

_I didn't go back to the office. The thought of facing Adam was just unbearable. I walked around, rather aimlessly, and eventually went into a bar. I began to drink, but not enough to get drunk. Instead, I started feeling more guilty and at some point, couldn't bear it anymore._

_So I went to Adam's house, expecting and almost needing his condemnation. I needed to hear that he was firing me, that he was disappointed in me and that he didn't ever want to see me again. In my family, losing had never been an option. I expected it to be the same with him. _

_I knocked and he opened the door. I didn't register the expression on his face back then, but thinking back, I realize that it must have been relief. "Thank God," he said to me, "I've tried to contact you all afternoon. You weren't at the office."_

_I didn't even hear him. "Adam, I lost."_

"_I know." He ushered me inside and sat me down in his office. _

_I looked at him expectantly, waiting for his verdict. He didn't speak. I repeated: "I lost."_

"_I know," he said again, with more emphasis this time. _

_I felt I was getting angry. "I lost the case! I let a murderer go free!"_

"_And I checked your progress over the past few weeks. You did everything right, your summation was spot on. The evidence just wasn't adequate," Adam told me calmly. "I myself couldn't have done it any better."_

_He looked at me and it was as if he knew about all the doubts and fears I had when I had come to him. Then he told me it was alright and that was when I broke down. He walked over to me, placed a hand on my shoulder and just waited. I don't know how long I sat there, but when I finally calmed down, he crouched down next to me and told me: "An English jurist once said: 'Better that ten guilty persons escape than that one innocent suffer.' "_

"_This man wasn't innocent," I retaliated. _

"_He might not have been," Adam conceited. "But we must demand that our juries remain critical. They shouldn't convict when there is reasonable doubt." He looked at me searchingly for a moment. "You don't believe that, do you?" _

"_Sometimes, I just want the guilty man locked up. Whatever it takes."_

_Adam nodded and sighed. "Then I have some cases for you to look at."_

"That was it. I spent a week studying those files and in the end, had to admit that he was right," Jack concluded.

"What were the cases?" Mike asked eagerly, his nervousness had long since dissipated. It was an odd idea that his boss had once been an insecure, young attorney, but somehow, it was also a comforting thought.

Jack chuckled. "We're here to talk about the cases I assigned to you, not those Adam gave to me." He got up and sat behind his desk again. Mike felt slightly disappointed, but leaned back in his chair, waiting for Jack's questions.

"Mitch Regan," Jack began after putting his reading glasses back on. "You thought I made the right decision in 2001 and you say you would've done the same thing. Why?"

"New York law says that anyone over 18 is eligible for the death penalty. That is the clear line we have to adhere to. If the crime fits this punishment, which Regan's crime did, we shouldn't hesitate to use it. Thinking twice would be denying equality before the law."

"I agree," Jack said, looking down at Mike's report. "But then you write that it wasn't the right moral and ethical decision."

" 'Nothing is definite at eighteen', Regan's lawyer said in his summation. Now, I'm well over eighteen, but I've had to re-think many of my opinions these last few days. Mitch Regan could just as well have been an entirely different person in just a few years," Mike argued.

"So when is it morally right to sentence someone to death? At what age does a person stop being capable of change?" Jack pressed.

Mike was silent. He averted his eyes, like he usually did when he was deep in thought. "There is no such age. And we have no moral right to sentence anyone to death."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "So you're against the death penalty now?"

"I should be."

"But you're not?"

"No, I'm not."

"Why not?"

"Because … because I'm human!" Mike said rather loudly, getting up. "I said I'd have given the death penalty, even though it isn't the right decision. It's impossible to always be completely correct! Sometimes, the death penalty seems the only option."

"Sit down," Jack ordered calmly. When he saw that Mike wasn't obeying him, he continued: "That's what I wanted to hear. You can't always force yourself to be morally or ethically right, but it does make for an interesting discussion."

Mike slowly sat down again. "So what do you think? Was it morally right to give Mitch Regan the death penalty?"

"Sometimes, a person's actions are so heinous that he forfeits the right to live. That's what Mitch Regan did."

"No exceptions?"

"There are always exceptions."

"But not for Clay Warner?" Mike asked.

"No, not for Clay Warner," Jack conceited. "That case bothered me for a long while. In the end, Warner died, because I wanted him to. It was completely up to me."

"He died, because he wanted to and the law condoned it. I don't think you did anything wrong." It was an odd reversal of roles.

"So you agreed with my initial decision?"

Mike hesitated. "Yes, I guess so. But again, I don't know whether it was the right ethical decision." Jack nodded in understanding. "Nelson Lambert asked me whether I would have made an exception for Oscar Wilde. I said I would have," Mike continued. He wondered if Jack disapproved.

"An admirable decision. I hope I'd have done the same."

"You're not sure?"

Jack smiled at him. "They call me 'Hang 'em high McCoy'. I'm sure you've noticed that particular quality of mine in the Tim Schwimmer case. You reckon," he spared an amused glance at Mike's report. "that I was wrong in that case, you'd have done it differently and your decision would have been the right one."

"Tim was a young, foolish attorney with principles. He didn't deserve this. The end doesn't always justify the means."

"Tim?" Jack raised his eyebrows at him. Mike blushed slightly. "I'm sure he's a nice man. Back then, however, I was more moved by the family's of the victims who were looking for closure."

"And you thought this was the only way to get it for them? Tim Schwimmer's life was destroyed by what was just a stupid mistake!"

"I regret that," Jack admitted. "I kept hoping he'd give in and tell us, I'd have dropped the charges immediately. However, his conviction was a risk I was willing to take in order to find those bodies. Now, I'd like to discuss your last case. Were you right in the initial prosecution against Mrs. Talbot?"

"No, I wasn't." It was hard to admit it. "It wasn't a correct application of the law."

"Would you have done it differently today?"

"No."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Explain, please."

"I wanted to save her, Jack, and I was willing to bend the law for that. I thought it was worth it. I still do."

"And I didn't and still don't," Jack said dryly. When he saw Mike's mutinous look, he continued: "It is my job to ensure this office applies the law correctly."

"To yank my leash," Mike muttered softly and quite bitterly.

Jack heard it anyway. "That's right. I don't see your answer to the final question here." He indicated the report. "Why not?"

"I don't have an answer. I don't think it's for me to decide what was ethically or morally right in this case."

Jack took a moment to consider that. "I think you're right. That's another thing prosecutors and judges would do well to remember: we're not gods." He handed the report back to Mike. "Good work. Interesting ideas. Am I correct in thinking that you would have written a very different report at the start of this week?"

"Yes, I should say so." Mike grinned, but his expression quickly turned hesitant again. "Should I apologize to Connie?"

"I thought the two of you had sorted it out?"

"We did," Mike said quickly. "But when I apologized…"

"You didn't really mean it," Jack smirked. "If you mean it now, yes, you could apologize. But you weren't the only one wrong in that case. She shouldn't have sent that report to the defense without our permission. Mike, this assignment wasn't to punish you for that abortion case. I gave it to you, because you're a damn good prosecutor and I wanted to make sure you stay that way."

It took Mike a moment to form his next question. He always felt awkward when complimented, much more so than when he was being scolded. When Jack lectured him angrily on dubious trial tactics or bad search warrants, he was able to react with anger and quick arguments. If, however, Jack expressed his disappointment, Mike would fall silent and re-think his actions. Whenever he was complimented, he had no idea what to do. In the end, he asked: "Are you going to give Connie an assignment as well?"

"Maybe," Jack admitted. "But that would be between me and her. Just like this is between me and you."

Mike sensed that he was being dismissed. With the report in his hand, he turned and walked towards the door. With his hand on the door knob, he turned, met Jack's eyes and quickly said: "Thanks." Before the older man had a chance to react, he left and closed the door behind him.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary**: After the events of 20x05 "Dignity", Jack gives Mike an assignment concerning old cases to make a point about why his soul shouldn't reside in the umbrella stand.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own anything.

**A/N**: Mild spoilers for 20x09 "For the Defense"

Soul in the Umbrella Stand – Chapter 7

It had been a quiet day at the DA's office and Mike and Connie were just finishing up some paperwork. Several weeks ago, when he'd left Jack's office after their meeting, he'd gone up to Connie's desk and had sincerely apologized to her. She had been slightly surprised, but more than happy to return the sentiment. Ever since then, they'd settled into a comfortable working routine.

Only once, Mike had found himself in Jack's office after working hours. It had been during the prosecution of Marcus Woll, just after Woll had told him that he and Connie had once slept together. He'd been surprised, and somewhat flattered, by how grateful Jack was when Mike had come to talk to him. The older man had heard him out, asked the right questions and eventually offered him a glass of scotch and Mike had left his office feeling much better. That was, until the gigantic amount of paperwork following Woll's conviction came in.

A soft knock on the inside of the door made both Mike's and Connie's heads shoot upwards. Jack entered the room, pinning Mike with a stern stare. There was a piece of paper in his hand. "Guess who sent me a letter of application earlier this week?"

Mike leaned back in his chair, his right hand picking up the blue baseball from his desk. "No idea."

A look of annoyance crossed Jack's face. "Don't lie to me. Tim Schwimmer politely requested a job interview for a position in this office."

Mike fidgeted with the baseball. "He's an attorney, Jack. A good one, at that. Why can't he interview?"

"You put him up to this," Jack concluded. "When I got you into contact with him, this is not what I had in mind."

"Look, I'm sorry," Mike said quickly. "I should have told you about it, but I didn't know Tim was going to go through with it. Just give him a chance, Jack! One interview!"

Connie had been watching the exchange with growing unease and a look of confusion. "Shall I step out for a moment?"

"No, you can stay," Jack told her. "He's not in that much trouble."

"So you're interviewing him?" Mike asked eagerly, tossing the baseball up in the air and catching it with one hand.

Jack shot him a disapproving look. "Don't for a moment think I'm rewarding your actions, but I've already interviewed him." He turned around and walked towards the door.

Mike scrambled out of his chair and bolted after him. "Wait! How did it go? Are you hiring him?"

Jack stopped and turned slowly, his eyes twinkling slightly. "Oh, didn't I mention that?" Mike's expression made it clear he hadn't. "Yes, I interviewed him. I must admit, he's good. However, he's starting at the bottom, just like all other young ADA's we have."

"So you've have hired him?" Mike inquired excitedly, grinning up at Jack. "Have you called him already?"

"Just did," Jack answered. "Though I'll be keeping a close eye on him, Mike. If he cuts any corners, he's out of here."

"Yes, yes," Mike waved that warning away with a dismissive flick of the hand that still contained the blue baseball. At the same moment, his BlackBerry beeped, alerting him to the arrival of a text message, and Mike grabbed it off the table. While he read the message, Jack left his office, rolling his eyes at what he often deemed 'that gadget' as he did so.

"What was that all about?" Connie asked Mike as he put his BlackBerry down. "Who's this Tim Schwimmer?"

"Come on," said Mike, grabbing both their coats and putting on his scarf. "He's meeting us for drinks."

She took her coat from him without hesitation – it was already well past five o'clock - and followed Mike from the office, flicking off the lights on her way out.

Jack, who had been talking to another ADA in a nearby cubicle, watched the elevator doors close behind them, while Mike was talking animatedly to Connie. He shook his head, repressing a grin. The assignment he'd given Mike a few weeks ago had had several interesting, if unexpected, consequences. It had also made sure that Mike's soul didn't permanently reside in the umbrella stand. Over the years, Jack had seen many young prosecutors grow old and burn out after a few hard cases. He'd seen them turn towards the bottle, become workaholics or have their marriages break up. If a warning, an argument or even this assignment kept Mike from having to experience any one of those things, Jack would consider it worth it. He wasn't prepared to lose another great prosecutor.

THE END

**A/N2**: That was it! Thank you for reading and/or reviewing this far. Special thanks to Teyerin Metalchick36, who have been extremely loyal and have offered very kind comments and encouragements. Thanks a lot!


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